


Cornfield

by konoyo, Melarissa



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Romance, Songfic, Translation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-06
Updated: 2017-11-06
Packaged: 2019-01-30 04:07:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12645768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/konoyo/pseuds/konoyo, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melarissa/pseuds/Melarissa
Summary: Summer, heat, corn fields...





	Cornfield

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [Кукуруза](https://archiveofourown.org/works/851962) by [Melarissa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melarissa/pseuds/Melarissa). 



> Inspired by Песня: "Кукуруза" by Ночные снайперы и БИ-2. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jaQBENtdKWQ

The Lenorman job went wrong. Very wrong. Not only was his subconscious militarized against extraction but some of the defenses were so brutal that Eames was happy that he even woke up. Waves of suicidal thought still lapped at him from time to time, even though he knew the thoughts didn't belong to him. They were just the parting gift of that bastard. Oh and how thoroughly they'd been reassured that everything was going to be fine, that the man not only had no defenses but had never even heard of extraction in passing. So, of course, after such a crushing fiasco, both parties were equally angry and would use any means necessary to get revenge on them. If only it were just the issue of money!

The people who ordered Lenorman's extraction were serious. Eames didn't even know all the details about the people they had been working for. Arthur had been the one with the details. And now not only were Lenorman's bloodhounds after them, so were their clients' henchmen.

Eames was spending his time in some provincial American town, either West Boulder or East River. He hadn't even paid attention to the road sign as he passed it at two thirty in the morning, on his sixth car in two days. Hopefully, this was enough to lose them. He'd gotten a hotel room and laid low. Now, he was losing his mind from boredom and crawling up the walls without knowing what happened to his team and, most importantly, what happened to Arthur. He'd forced Eames to leave, reminding him that they'd be more conspicuous together. And he was right. But it had been two weeks - no texts, no emails. Arthur was gone, his phone was disconnected and none of his emails worked. He'd dissipated somewhere in the millions of other Americans like a drop of expensive whiskey in a bathtub of water.

It was worse at night. Eames could come up with something to occupy himself during the day. He went to the store, shaved, watched three talk shows a day, bought a giant jigsaw with a unintelligible surrealistic theme and spent hours trying to put together the pieces. At one point, he couldn't take it anymore and he flipped over the table where he'd assembled some of the pieces. That ended with him spending the rest of the evening crawling around his room on his hands and knees, looking for the pieces that managed to get stuck in the cracks like pieces of memories. The store where he'd gotten the puzzle also stocked models you could glue together, brain teasers, and other weapons against free time. So during the day, Eames could find something to do.

At night, however, Eames watched TV until his eyes started to close from exhaustion and too much beer. So he turned it off and crawled into bed where he passed out like a rock. He woke up with painful morning wood because he'd dreamt of Arthur again.

Arthur in the shower, droplets of water on his skin.

Or Arthur with a notepad in his hands, chewing on his pen like he was in first grade.

Or, and this was the worst one, Arthur naked in his bed, in Eames' arms. Because after those dreams, Eames couldn't take the thought that it would never, ever happen again. No more Arthur in the shower or chewing his pen or on crisp, white sheets...

If he was ever found, what if it was in the mortuary, bloated under river water or under six feet of cement?

That's why Eames spent hours just lying in bed after that, hugging his pillow and not even finding the will to touch himself. He didn't want to take the edge off, relax, when Arthur might not even exist anymore.

***

Arthur called after three weeks. No, he called on the twenty third day. There was no number on the screen of his phone and even though Eames knew it was insane to answer an unknown number, he couldn't help himself.

"Do you know it's insane for someone in your situation to answer an unknown number?" Arthur asked crossly.

"Arthur," Eames breathed, smiling the most stupid, most puppy-like grin he'd ever worn in his life.

"Take the west highway out of town twelve miles out until you see a large cornfield. Take a right on the third road and go until it ends. From there, walk around a hundred yards straight then to the left. Got it?"

"Yes."

"I'm waiting." The phone clicked off and Eames all but tumbled off the bed in his effort to get up. Arthur was waiting. Now. For him.

He stuck his phone in his pocket, the keys to his room, and the keys to his car, which he'd gotten off a local for five hundred dollars so he had something to take to the mall in the town over which was just as faceless and nameless as this one. He all but rolled down the stairs, not feeling his feet under him. He had time to put on his public, uninterested face while he was driving. Right now, he didn't need it.

***

Eames was a little nervous as he turned down the third road that led through the cornfield. _Children of the Corn_ came to mind even more so when the tall, dark green stalks obscured the horizon. The road curved this way and that and eventually Eames couldn't see anything but a sea of corn with ripening cobs in any direction.

The road ended all at once, as if the tractor that had cut it suddenly sprouted a helicopter propeller and took to the skies. Eames didn't lock his car. If someone wanted to get in it, tearing the cracked rubber that covered the back window wouldn't be a problem. So they might as well use the door. He took one last look around and ducked into the corn.

He tried to walk as straight as he could, using the stalks to orient himself since there was no other point of reference. He could be wandering the field for hours if he got lost. Eames counted his steps and after around a hundred and twenty he turned left and kept walking. He couldn't tell how much longer he should go until he suddenly stepped out onto a small circular clearing. Someone had clearly made it by driving their car around and around, breaking and bending the corn until there was enough room. In the center was Arthur, lazing on the hood of a Mustang, his face and chest turned up to the hot sun.

Eames stopped. Arthur had been the one driving around in circles until all the corn in a ten yard radius had been neatly flattened, and then had parked his car in the center. It was the hottest time of the afternoon. The sun beat down mercilessly and the air quivered over the tops of the corn stalks, shimmering like a desert mirage. The broken green stalks seeped with juice and everything around them smelled of a disorienting, tart freshness. Eames crossed the distance between him and Arthur on the hood of the car in several long strides, taking Arthur in his arms, his knees pressing into the hot metal of the radiator and his face hidden in the curve of Arthur's neck. He could smell him, the smell of sweat, sun-warmed skin, and the hints of aftershave. All of this melded with the smell of the corn into a strange mix of want and anxiety.

"Arthur." Eames didn't have the strength for any other words. "Arthur!" he whispered almost reverently, then reached for the clasp of his pants, then Arthur's. He tugged it down urgently, his nail catching in the zipper.

Arthur didn't say a word since Eames first saw him, he barely even opened his eyes but now he leaned back, letting Eames do whatever he wanted. Eames took both of them in hand, squeezing gently, and used his free hand to tug Arthur closer, wrapping around his waist. He stroked them both and with each stroke, waves of anxiety he'd barely registered rolled off his shoulders, replaced with a wonderful feeling of ease. Eames closed his eyes, feeling like the whole world smelled like Arthur in that moment, as if they had dissolved in their surroundings. The sun burned his skin mercilessly but it was heady, perfect, wonderful.

Eames barely managed to open his eyes, which were watering from the bright sunlight. Eventually, he remembered that he should take care of Arthur, but when he glanced down, Arthur had also come, all without making a sound. Now, they could talk. Now that he was sure that Arthur wasn't a dream, that he was alive, he was here.

"How did you know where to find me?" Eames was sitting by Arthur's side on the hood. Arthur took a drag from a strange cigarette out of a blue carton with an unpronounceable name and slowly let the translucent smoke escape upwards.

"I always knew where you were."

"So why didn't you call earlier?"

"I couldn't. I didn't exist. I still don't. If I hadn't been passing by..."

"I...was worried." Eames pushed the phrase out with some embarrassment, as if he'd just gotten out of the shower and the bathroom was full of people. Arthur looked at him curiously, squinting in the bright sunlight, then leaned in and stole a chaste kiss. Eames tasted the tobacco on his lips, along with some spiced additives.

"I know. But it's better this way."

"For whom? You or them?"

"For you. A little bit longer and I'll take care of everything."

Eames leaned back on the windshield. It dawned on him how sick he was of this West-something or East-take-a-hike.

"So what? Are you going to leave again?"

"Not right now," Arthur said, getting off the hood. "I have time till morning."

Morning! Eames sat up sharply. That meant the whole evening and the whole night. And maybe a little bit of the morning, too.

"Let's go. I have a room at a hotel."

"Just do up your pants," Arthur said with a laugh. "You don't want to shock the poor hotel staff."

***

Evening approached inexorably. While Arthur confidently drove the car to an inconspicuous trail and out onto the highway, Eames couldn't shake the feeling of sand slipping through an hourglass. At the same time, the evening stretched before them like endless toffee.

First, they took a cool shower. Eames kissed Arthur's wet collarbone and Arthur's hand ran gently up his back. It was nice in the shower. Then, they moved to the bed and Arthur took the initiative, teasing and fondling, taking his time until Eames was ready before pushing inside slowly, languidly. They moved together, seeking to meet in the middle and Eames didn't close his eyes as he was wont to, instead memorizing every detail. Arthur's typically neatly styled hair fell over his forehead and droplets hung off the tips of the strands that hadn't dried yet. Or maybe it was already sweat?

Arthur broke at the end, pushing up Eames' knees and ending everything with fast, short thrusts, pushing his full length inside. Eames couldn't object, he didn't have long left either. Right before, Arthur pulled out and took both of them in hand to stroke almost desperately, until Eames moaned and broke under him. Arthur braced his hand on Eames' chest, fingers leaving red marks as he came on Eames' stomach, where it was already wet. Then he collapsed on top, panting and clinging to the sheets.

In the three weeks he spent in this hotel, Eames had time to fall in love with the evening hours. They were the most pleasant, despite the heat. The sun set right before the windows of the room and giant fields stretched out towards the horizon, green and flourishing for now. In time they would turn yellow and gold, then a warm brown, and then, finally an ugly grey. Or maybe everything on them would be cut down and gathered beforehand and then they will be just brown and empty until the farmers planted something else.

The whole room was filled with a warm red light. Arthur's silhouette in front of the window looked like an ebony statue. Eames couldn't see the details, just a completely black outline on the backdrop of a crimson sunset.

"You picked a nice place."

"You can see pretty far," Eames said simply. "And not too high, if you need a quick escape."

Arthur looked down at the distance from the second floor to the ground and nodded. "Can we use the balcony?"

"Yeah. Of course."

Arthur opened the balcony door, letting in a hot bouquet of smells into the air conditioned room. "Come here."

Eames went without getting dressed. He already knew the surroundings and that the hotel was the last (or first, depending on how you looked) building in town and the chance that someone would see them was so small that you could ignore it. Arthur was in one of the deck chairs and was smoking his strange cigarettes again. Eames stilled, taking in the image: a naked Arthur, his legs stretched out and crossed over each other, skin lit up in gold by the last beams of the setting sun.

"Do they serve food here?" Arthur's voice broke into the moment.

"Sometimes. Should I order something?"

"Anything. I don't care."

Eames couldn't help but feel a little ashamed. How would he know how Arthur had spent these last few weeks, what he ate, how he slept. The shame ended up as a giant order of food, where Eames included everything that the nearby cafe used by truckers and motorists had to offer. Half an hour later, Eames was given three giant paper bags, full to the brim with plastic containers. Setting up their roadside feast on the balcony table, Eames thought about how this wasn't the way he'd wanted to spend this day with Arthur. He'd want things to be better than this, more beautiful, no matter how silly that sounded.

"Don't worry," Arthur said, reading the mood on him as always. "Everything's fine."

Eames didn't answer. He didn't want to speak at all, just to watch and to listen.

"When all this is over... When all this is over, we'll go wherever we want. We'll have enough money and no one will care what we do. Then you'll do things the way you think you should. For now, just relax."

Eames nodded. He just had to wait and then everything would be good. Better. More beautiful.

They sat on the balcony without turning on the light, drinking beer from Eames' stock in the fridge, and watched the red turn into dark violet, and then inky black. The stars hung large and twinkling above them.

"Let's go to bed?" Arthur asked, gently touching Eames' wrist and the light touch sent a wave of heat that made Eames' cheeks and ears burn.

It was Eames' turn to lead. Arthur pressed himself against Eames as if he was cold, or maybe something worse than the cool night air made goosebumps rise on his skin. Eames wanted to chase away whatever Arthur was feeling, at least make him forget for a little while. And Eames had to forget why they were in this hotel at the end of the world and just let the moment take him.

His hands ran over Arthur's shoulders, tracing his shoulder blades, his fingers counting every rib. He breathed into the small of Arthur's back, smiling as Arthur shivered and arched but didn't pull away, seeking out Eames touch, and asking for more. He licked up from Arthur's tailbone, then down lower, squeezing his muscular buttocks. It was Arthur's turn to melt and groan under the practiced touches. Eames stretched out, covering Arthur with his own body, pressing his face to the base of Arthur's neck, and gently kissing the skin under the slightly overgrown hair on Arthur's nape.

"I want you," he breathed into that spot, as if Arthur couldn't tell the extent of Eames' feelings against his rear.

His hand found the soft tube under a pillow, as if it was left there on purpose. Eames didn't want to hurry, he wanted to take everything slow, but he couldn't resist. He pulled Arthur up and onto his lap. Arthur didn't even resist, instead relaxing and letting Eames set the rhythm and speed, only throwing one arm behind him and onto the back of Eames' neck so he could keep his balance, his fingers digging into the skin. And Eames was already too far gone, the situation far too similar to the one he'd seen in dreams and it was impossible to control himself like this. Every touch and the friction between them helped reassure him what he'd felt out there in the cornfield - that Arthur was alive, Arthur was here, Arthur still existed...

After, they laid in darkness as Eames traced mindless patterns on the skin of Arthur's chest and thought about how, tomorrow, he'd be tossing in this bed alone, unable to sleep. Arthur caught his hand, gently pressing Eames' knuckles to his lips, then turned it over and kissed the spot where Eames' life line curved and ran farther, somewhere towards the mount of Jupiter.

"If you hear anything...anything about me...don't worry. Everything will be fine."

"What will I be hearing? Is everything so bad?"

"No. Just, don't worry. Now, let's go to sleep."

***

Eames woke with the annoying beeping of a cell phone alarm. The sky was a dusky pearl, the sun not even peeking over the horizon. Arthur turned off the alarm with a touch to the screen, already fully dressed.

"It's time for me to go. Want me to drop you at your car?"

Eames hopped off the bed, grabbing his pants. He had time only to splash himself with some cold water then ran downstairs, almost forgetting to lock the door. Arthur was waiting for him in the Mustang.

Arthur slowed when they got to the third road in the cornfield, then stopped the car and got out as Eames did, looking out into the endless sea of green. "You'll get a call soon. The number will start with 593. They'll offer you a job which you should take. It'll be reliable. After that, I'll find you."

"Arthur." Eames wanted to ask something. Then to wish Arthur luck. Or ask him to call but... Everything sounded fake to his own ears. "Thank you."

"Oh, don't worry about it. I wasn't looking on purpose..."

"I don't mean the job. Thanks for passing by."

Arthur looked at him quietly then gently touched Eames' cheek before getting into his car. "Don't forget. Don't believe what you might hear."

Then, he was gone.

Eames walked to his car and turned it around with some effort, cursing the farmers, tractors, deep ruts and narrow roads, then headed back to the motel. While he'd been struggling with the U-turn, he'd flattened some of the corn surrounding the road and several droplets fell through the open window, landing on the back of Eames' hand on the wheel. He licked them off, committing to memory the bitter, sour taste.


End file.
